For Stan, going back to school felt like walking through a graveyard. He didn't want to be there. Everything was dark and daunting. He couldn't shake the gut-wrenching fears of everything he was leaving behind. It even felt like brainless zombies were following him as he walked down the long corridors.
After his football stardom made the high school famous a few years ago, he accidentally became popular amongst his peers. In truth, he was already well-known from his childhood. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew Stan because he hung out with the infamous Eric Cartman. But ever since he became the star quarterback, the entire school population absolutely revered him. And that made today all the more difficult.
He should be grateful for all the attention and respect. At times, it was certainly nice to have so many people dote on him. But today, it felt like he was being swarmed by lifeless corpses.
"Hi, Stan!" some girl cheered as they passed down the hall.
Stan just sucked his teeth.
He had tried to run away to Kyle's house this morning. But his parents stopped him, of course.
They didn't even put him on the bus. They drove him to school, like he was a little kid who needed protection, and didn't leave until they were sure he entered the building. So he was stuck here, while Kyle was still sick at his house.
"Holy shit, Stan the man!" Clyde showed up out of nowhere, throwing an arm around his shoulders, "Where've you been, dude? Gym class has been so boring without you!"
Stan didn't even try to hide his disquietude.
"Things have sucked lately," he grumbled as they walked down the hall together.
"Preach, preach," Clyde said. With a hint of concern in his tone, he added, "Hey, can I do anything for you, man? The football guys and I 've been worried about you."
"Really?"
"I mean, yeah. It's normal for you to skip school sometimes. I get that. But, like, missing football practice? Not answering anyone's messages? You all good, man?"
Stan just sighed. He liked Clyde enough as a friend. He was a little slow (but who was Stan to judge? He was quite slow, himself), but his heart was in the right place. Clyde was also tall and well-built, which was why he landed a linebacker position on the football team.
Stan trusted Clyde and all, but he didn't feel like lamenting all of his problems just yet. He was too pissed off and uptight to break down so early in the morning.
"I don't know," Stan grumbled, "I think I'm fine. Things have been shitty though."
"I get it. Is there anything me or one of the guys can do to help?"
"Gee, I don't know. Could you put me in a box and ship me to Kyle's house without letting anybody's parents know?"
Clyde stopped walking, but Stan didn't notice right away. He went on walking down the hall before he realized, and ran back to the linebacker's side.
"Dude, you realize that Kyle's here today, right?" Clyde asked.
Stan swore he felt a firework go off inside of him.
"He is? His- But his broken ankle, and he was sick, and-"
"No yeah, we all know about the bus accident, dude. I think everyone else involved is still at home recovering, but you know how Kyle doesn't like taking sick days. I literally just saw him at his locker. He might still be there, actually."
Stan was too stunned to move an inch, so he stood there like an idiot in the middle of the hallway while people bustled around him.
"Seriously?!"
"Uh, yeah, man. Seriously. Just saw him. Like three seconds ago," Clyde was noticeably a little bewildered by Stan's reaction.
"Clyde Donovan, you are relieved from running laps for a full week!" Stan praised, so excited he could barely stand still.
"Aw, yes! Thanks, man! I'll see you later, then?"
"Yeah, for sure! See you around!" Stan was bubbling with excitement so quickly he felt like he was going to explode into little pieces.
When he and Clyde parted ways, Stan made a beeline for Kyle's locker. His pace was getting faster and faster with each passing second, and his heart was like a battering ram against his ribcage. It was no longer like he was walking through a graveyard, but like he was running through carnival grounds.
He thought he heard some teacher telling him to slow down or something or other, but he just brushed it aside.
His excitement didn't even slow when he did come across Kyle, who was standing at his locker. If anything, Stan's excitement multiplied.
Kyle almost looked like himself.
He stood on crutches, his casted foot raised in the air precariously. He was wearing his trademark green ushanka, and was dressed in his favorite orange coat. The bruises on his face were so much fainter than they were yesterday, it was astounding how quickly they were disappearing.
It warmed Stan's heart to see his best friend doing okay; even after everything they had been through in the past few days, it seemed like everything was going back to normal.
Kyle was occupied with rearranging his books, so he didn't notice Stan's presence until he greeted:
"Hey, Kyle!"
Kyle dropped one of his crutches.
Stan was quick to pick it up and hand it back, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's so good to see you! I had no idea you were going to be at school today!"
Kyle was hesitant when he looked up to meet Stan's gaze. Extremely hesitant. He watched Stan with wide open eyes, his expression unreadable.
He was tentative when he took the crutch back, "Yeah, um. I didn't know you would be at school either."
Stan was probably gushing like an idiot at this point, but he couldn't help it. After all his anxiousness that had been building up for hours and hours, this kind of relief was nothing short of heavenly. This was the ultimate catharsis he needed: to see that Kyle was alive and well.
"I missed you," Stan said smiling.
Kyle just bit his lip, "You saw me yesterday."
"I was worried I wasn't gonna see you for a while. I'm not allowed to visit you at home for a week, and I thought you wouldn't be at school. I didn't know what was gonna happen to you at home. I don't know what they did to you, or how they punished you… Are you okay?"
Kyle shrugged awkwardly, "I'm here, aren't I?"
"How are you feeling?"
"Well. Um. Better than yesterday."
"I'm so glad to hear that, dude, I was so worried. I'm so glad you're doing better."
"Thanks."
"And your face looks so much better, too!" Stan praised, "It's only been a day and I can hardly see a single bruise."
"Oh," Kyle looked embarrassed when he admitted, "Um, that's foundation."
"What?"
"My mom's foundation. It's a kind of makeup that covers up blemishes. I don't really know that much about makeup, but mom put this on my face to- well, you know. Make me less ugly, I guess," Kyle answered haphazardly. At this point, he was avoiding eye contact completely, and he started to arrange and rearrange the books in his locker.
Stan's ears picked up, "Ugly? That's awful! Why would she say you're ugly? You're not ugly."
"She never said I was ugly. Just the-" Kyle stuttered over the word, "Just the b-bruises."
Stan frowned. He took Kyle's face in his hands to inspect it.
Kyle flinched at the touch, his entire body going stiff. But he made no move to pull away.
Stan studied Kyle's face in his grasp until he concluded; "They look fine to me."
"Because they're covered in makeup," Kyle said. He spoke so softly that his voice was barely above a whisper. Immediately Stan knew that something was wrong.
"What's the matter, Kyle?" he asked. He took his hands away from Kyle's face. Something about Kyle's timid body language and his concise language made nasty concern crawl around inside his gut.
"Kyle, why didn't you answer any of my texts last night? You always answer my texts. I sent like a thousand of them for hours straight. Why didn't you answer any of them?"
"Got my phone taken away."
"Please tell me that was all your punishment was, and that they didn't do anything worse to you. They didn't hurt you again, did they?"
Kyle just went back to arranging and rearranging the books in his locker, acting as if he didn't hear Stan's question.
That only made him more worried.
Stan moved to embrace him, but Kyle flinched and backed away.
Stan's gut was writhing in worry, "Kyle?"
"Stan, I just- I just don't want to talk right now. Or be touched," Kyle said, bracing himself with his crutches, "I'm still not really feeling well. I feel really sick, actually, and I don't think you- Well- Stan, you—…"
Kyle shut himself up and stared at the worn tiled floor.
This wasn't right. Everything was supposed to feel at least a little bit normal now that they were back in school together, but Kyle wasn't acting like himself at all.
"What about me?"
Kyle lightly touched the base of his skull, as if in some kind of trance-like memory.
"What about me?" Stan pleaded again.
Kyle just kept holding that area between his head and neck and staring at the floor, but saying nothing.
"They must have done something really bad to you, huh?" Stan pondered aloud, "You're so quiet. It's not like you to be so quiet. Are you okay, Kyle? What did they do to you at home?"
"Marsh, what are you doing to my brother?"
The feeling of nighttime graveyards once again entered Stan's mind when Ike Broflovski approached them in the hallway. He was dressed in tediously nice clothing, and had an evilly smug look on his face when he stood eye-to-eye with Stan.
"Haven't you had enough your sadistic fill torturing him? Let him alone, he's not feeling well," Ike ordered.
Stan stepped forward defensively, "What're you doing here, Ike? This is the upperclassman hallway."
"In case you forgot, I'm a senior now. I skipped a grade again. I am officially part of your graduating class, so you'll just have to tolerate my presence, won't you?"
Ike knocked one of Kyle's crutches with his fist, "C'mon. I'll walk you to class."
"Hey, step off!" Stan exclaimed, "Leave him alone, Ike! I know what you've done to him."
"Oh, please. Any actions I've taken barely hold a candle to what you've done, and I don't even know the whole story."
"What are you talking about?"
"Kyle has refused to tell us anything you did to him while he was in your captivity. Though that infuriates me more than I'd like to admit, I don't need to know exactly what happened. I have a few theories. And believe me," Ike gave him a cold, dead look, one that pierced Stan right in the soul, "My theories are never far off from the truth."
Being in a high school environment, it wasn't surprising that a crowd was already gathering. Everyone passing through the halls from Stan's football teammates, to his childhood friends, and to girls he hasn't spoken to in years, gathered around them to watch. It didn't make Stan feel any better that he recognized every single face in the crowd. Even Wendy Testaburger was looking at him with sympathy.
Taking in the sight of the crowd, Kyle backed up into the lockers uncomfortably, keeping his head low. But the attention only seemed to make Ike more confident. So Stan stepped up his game and pushed himself to be more defiant.
"What, is that supposed to scare me? That you have a theory? You should be the one who's scared, Ike. Don't forget who gave you that shiner," Stan snarled, pointing with special attention to the bruise on Ike's jaw.
It was still dark purple and swollen. It had been several hours already, but the bruise was still so puffed up that it made Ike's face look lopsided. It was incredibly undignifying. Just the mention of the bruise drew in the crowd's interest further.
Ike was only caught off guard for a second. He reared up again, readying to fire back, but Kyle stuck a crutch out in front of him.
"Ike, stop it," he said, an exhausted look in his eye, "Just go to class."
"I don't want him anywhere near you. After all the hell you've drug yourself through for him, he doesn't deserve to be anywhere near-"
"-Ike, please," Kyle begged effetely. He looked like he was about to collapse onto his crutches right then and there, but he stood his ground.
The action alone brought a smile to Stan's face. The firebrand inside his friend wasn't so far gone after all.
"Kyle…" Ike was stunned. He was losing power and he knew it. In his shock, he looked around the crowd a little wearily, before returning to meet his brother's gaze, "Kyle, you're not in the right mindset to make decisions like this. You can't let him push you around like that, it isn't-"
"-Shut the fuck up, freshman!" somebody shouted from the crowd.
Stan laughed, recognizing Bebe's raspy screech.
"Nobody likes a know-it-all!" somebody else shouted.
"Leave our quarterback alone! You can call the shots when you've scored ten consecutive touch-downs like he has!"
"Go back to underclassman territory, freshman!"
"Dude, why the fuck is our man Ky on crutches?"
"Freshman!"
"Wait, what's going on? I was in the bathroom for, like, four seconds, and I walk in on-"
"-Leave 'em alone, they're SBFs!"
"Freshman!"
Underclassman heckling was one of Stan's favorite things about being a senior in general, but this was by far the best heckling session he had ever seen. Not only was all the verbal abuse directed at none other than the creepy Canadian himself, but it was all done by the same group of kids Stan had grown up with. All of them. They didn't even know what he had done, but they were here defending Stan and Kyle like there was no tomorrow.
Even Wendy Testaburger winked at him before telling Ike to crawl back to freshman hall.
Ike was standing still, glancing at the crowd. It was no secret that Ike was a narcissistic elitist; so to see him so uncomfortable felt like Christmas morning for Stan. The power dynamics were flipped upside down. He was completely at the bottom of the food chain.
But even though he was lucidly aware of this, Ike just rolled his eyes.
"Freshman!" someone screamed.
Ike responded by giving them the middle finger. He grabbed the scruff of Kyle's coat and pulled him close, Kyle just going along with the pull. Ike then whispered something into Kyle's ear, ignoring all the protests from the crowd. When he was done whispering, he simply let go of his older brother and walked off like nothing had happened.
The crowd erupted into hoots and hollers, some of them laughing at Ike's disappearance, others just being rowdy for the hell of being rowdy.
Clyde caught Stan's gaze from the crowd and mouthed the words: 'You good?'
Stan just stuck a thumb up in response, still chuckling at Ike's torment.
After that the crowd started to disperse, the girls went off together, some people retreated to their classes, a few lingered by to keep tabs on Stan and Kyle, and even some adventurous people went chasing Ike down the hall.
When they were alone (or at least, as alone as they could be for a high school hallway), Stan gave Kyle a toothy smile and said, "Well, that was fun. Freshman abuse is fun, isn't it?"
"He's not even a freshman anymore," Kyle said, pretending to be fascinated with the floor.
"Yeah, but I think that mentality will never change. I mean, our entire graduating class has grown up together, everyone except for him. I think he'll always be at the bottom of our social hierarchy," Stan laughed.
When he noticed Kyle's inattentiveness, he softened.
"What did he say to you when he was whispering like that? He looked like he really upset you."
"You don't want to know," Kyle murmured.
"Kyle," Stan said sternly.
Somewhere down the hall, someone guffawed loudly, and a smaller stream erupted into cheers.
"Why's everyone so uppity today?" Stan asked, watching a group of girls walk by with their bra straps showing.
"Bebe's throwing some party Friday."
"But it's Monday. Why are they already hyped?" Stan asked.
"It's supposed to be huge," Kyle explained meekly, still avoiding eye contact. He wavered back and forth in his place, like he wanted to go, but something was holding him back. His motions only scared Stan all the more.
"Hey, Kyle, I'm really sorry I wasn't there to protect you," Stan said sadly, "I promised I wouldn't let them take you home, but I broke that promise. I'm sorry. I never wanted to let you get hurt. I'm so sorry I let you down."
Now Kyle finally gave Stan attention. He looked up at him with big, doleful eyes, biting his lower lip.
"Stan-" he started, his voice trembling, "-I think that there are a lot of things you don't really understand right now. I think your perception's skewed. Do you think- I mean, I don't know. Do you think we could talk about this? 'Cause there-..."
Kyle took a deep breath, "There's something I have to tell you. And I don't want you to get upset again."
"Again?" Stan tilted his head to the side.
"Could we talk sometime later today? Like on our lunch break?"
"Can't we talk now?"
"I have to get to class..."
"You have half an hour 'till your first class starts. You're always early, Kyle. I know that about you. You have time to talk now."
Kyle pursed his lips together and looked at the floor. He took a moment to collect himself, Stan watching over him closely.
Once Kyle regained a little spurt of confidence, he looked Stan in the eye once more. His fiery self was absent. He didn't seem like he was angry, or even defiant. He just seemed to be sure of himself when he said:
"I don't feel like talking now. I had a really rough night, Stan. I don't feel well. And something tells me you're not feeling quite yourself either. I'd rather wait until our lunch break."
"Okay," Stan said calmly, though he was still exploding with worry on the inside, "We can go outside, or to the library, or somewhere to talk."
"We can sit with Kenny and Cartman."
"We don't have to. Let's go somewhere where it's just us. I want to talk to you, Kyle."
"It's okay, we can sit with them."
"But you don't want to sit with them to talk. Let's go somewhere where we can be alone."
"No," Kyle said a little too quickly, "No, we can sit with them. I- I don't want to be alone with you anymore."
Stan's heart sunk, "Why would you say something like that?"
Kyle absentmindedly touched one of the bruises on his face; it was prominent and black, even under the makeup.
"Doesn't matter," he said, staring somewhere else, "I just don't want to."
Stan frowned. In one swift movement, he pressed his finger to one of the bruises on Kyle's face. He watched as Kyle winced and grimaced at the touch, and how his entire body stiffened when Stan pressed down on the little black mark.
"Does it hurt?" Stan asked, something awful grinding in his gut as he took in the way Kyle reacted to the bruise.
He watched Kyle's throat twitch when he answered, "It does when you touch it."
Stan took his finger away, but Kyle didn't relax.
"Do you want me to walk you to your first class?" Stan offered.
"No, I can walk."
"Don't you need help carrying your books? You're on crutches."
Kyle blanched, "Oh. Yeah. Right."
He didn't say anything else when Stan took his books for him and helped him to his first class. A few people waved or said "hello" to them, but neither really responded. Kyle was too busy trying to operate his crutches, and Stan was too busy looking out for him.
"When did you get the crutches?" Stan asked.
"This morning," Kyle strained as he "walked."
"You'll get used to them soon. Just keep practicing," Stan tried to assure him, since Kyle seemed to be getting frustrated.
"No, I won't. I'll be getting my foot put in a boot Friday."
"Friday? Isn't that a little soon? Your ankle probably still hurts like hell."
"Very soon," Kyle agreed, "And it does hurt. A lot. But I need to get the inconvenience out of the way."
"Oh," Stan said. He was feeling worse and worse with every minute.
He stopped when they reached Kyle's classroom, "I'll see you at our table at lunch then?"
"Yeah. I'll be there."
"And Kenny and Cartman have to be there?"
"I know what you're thinking…" Kyle started, avoiding eye contact for the millionth time, "But I really don't want to be alone."
"Is Ike going to be there?"
"No…"
"No?" Stan smiled.
"No. I don't want you to get upset again."
Again. This was the second time he used that word.
"Kyle, what do you-"
"-See you at lunch?"
"...See you at lunch. Bye bye, Kyle. Have a good class."
"Thank you. I'll do my best."
Surviving until lunch break was taxing beyond belief. Stan could not focus on a single thing in any of his classes. He really should have paid attention, he already missed several days of school last week, but he couldn't help himself. Everyone around him was chattering nonsensically about Bebe's upcoming party and other events that didn't interest him in the slightest.
Stan's mind was a disarrayed mélange; and that was putting it lightly. There was too much to think about.
Kyle said he wasn't feeling well; did that mean he was still ill? What was Kyle's punishment from last night? He said he had a rough night, and that could mean virtually anything. And now Kyle wants to have another talk, one where they won't be alone because he's afraid of Stan getting 'upset again.'
And now Ike's presence was going to be a recurring thing.
Everything infinitely sucked.
Stan slammed his head down on his desk. A few people looked at him.
Before he had to justify himself, the bell rang overhead and everyone shuffled off to the cafeteria, Stan among them. He skirted around the crowds to get to the lunch room quickly. He took a seat at his usual table, where Eric Cartman was already seated.
He was eating from two lunch trays when Stan arrived, and eyed the quarterback suspiciously.
"You've been absent for a while," he said haughtily.
"I only missed three days of school."
"And two weekend days. With no word from either you or the Jew."
"Fuck off," Stan muttered. He opened up his oversized lunch bag and started to stress-eat everything inside it.
Then Kenny appeared out of the blue. He stopped short at the sight of Stan, eyes curiously wide beneath his hoodie, "Oh. Hey, Stan."
Stan swallowed a lump in his throat when he replied, "Good afternoon, Kenny."
"I didn't think you would be at school today," Kenny said wearily.
"Well, I am."
"Yeah. Okay," Kenny was visibly uneasy. It was clear from the look in his eyes that he had a lot of questions to ask, but for some reason, he was holding himself back. He held his breath when he sat down across from Stan, next to Cartman.
Eric snorted, "What the fuck is going on between you two? What'd I miss?"
"You could say we got in a fight over the weekend," Stan said bitterly.
"You could say that, or you could say other things," Kenny added, "Many other things."
Eric eyed the two of them suspiciously, but all he said was: "Don't look now, but here comes the ginger."
True to his words, Kyle walked in, hobbling on his crutches, pale and overworked by the physical exertion. At his arrival, Kenny immediately shot up from his seat with surprise.
"Kyle!" he cried, embracing him in a giant bear hug, "Oh my fucking God, I had no idea you'd be at school today! I didn't think I was gonna see you for a while! Oh my God, you're walking! It's so good to see you! How do you feel, man?"
Kyle stumbled backward at Kenny's jump in surprise, almost falling to the ground.
Kenny saw it instantly and reared up to save him, tucking one arm around his shoulders and the other around his ass to catch him before he fell.
Then they paused, looking at each other strangely.
"Gay," Eric muttered.
They both broke into genuine laughter, but Stan found nothing funny about it at all. He tried to shoot Kenny an angry glare, but Kenny had all of his attention on the redhead. He helped him stand back up, apologizing, "Sorry. But seriously, dude, I had no idea you'd be at school today! Last time I saw you, you weren't looking so hot. How're you feeling?"
"Not that great, honestly," Kyle said, moving to sit at the table.
Kenny shoved Stan out of his seat, "Move! I wanna sit here with the Kylie-B."
Stan was mortified. He was actually so stunned that he didn't do anything when Kenny shoved him aside, taking Kyle by the arm to sit down beside him. Kyle himself didn't seem to mind one bit.
Stan hated it, but he sat down across from them, beside Eric Cartman, who was suspiciously watching the whole ordeal play out.
"Why'd you come to school then?" Kenny asked, "You should have taken a few more days off. You got real sick, man. I was scared shitless. Still am, if I'm being honest."
"How sick? What happened?" Eric demanded.
"Kyle got DKA over the weekend. It was really bad."
"What, seriously?"
"Yeah, it was awful. He was fainting and vomiting and everything."
"Wish I had been there to see that sight," Eric mumbled. His gaze lingered on Kyle for a moment longer before he said, a bit softer; "You should be dead, Jew. I know I say that a lot. But you should be dead. That's real bad. 'specially after the bus accident. What's up with you?"
"Yeah, I know," Kyle admitted, fidgeting with the handles of his crutches, "I just- I still don't feel good, not really. But there's a lot of reasons why I still thought I should come to school today. First off, my parents hate it when I take sick days. I already took, like, two or three. That's pretty bad in my household."
"Assholes," Stan muttered.
"Yeah. It sucks. It's okay though," Kyle assured, "I'd rather be here than stuck home with them."
Kenny and Stan shared a look. Something about those words made Stan exceedingly uncomfortable.
"Hey Kyle," Stan started as gently as he could, "You never told me what your punishment was when you got home. Did they do something bad to you?"
"I don't really want to talk about that."
"Kyle, that's not fair. I want to know what-"
"-Good God, Kylie-B!" Kenny cried. He was eyeing the back of Kyle's neck with unadulterated shock, "Were you fucking strangled over the weekend?!"
Kyle gave Stan a hard stare before turning back to Kenny, "No. My parents didn't do that. Don't worry about it."
Eric was interested now, "What, did someone give the Jew a hickey or something?"
"No!" Kenny shrieked, "It looks like someone grabbed the back of his skull and crushed it with their bare hands!"
"I said don't worry about it," Kyle hissed, "It's nothing. I'm fine."
"But Kylie-B," Kenny whimpered. He looked like he was about to cry, "Those marks aren't normal. Who touched you like that?"
"He might have done it to himself," Stan put in.
All eyes zeroed-in on him. Even Eric Cartman seemed to be intrigued. Kenny was staring at him bewilderedly, while Kyle's expression was unreadable.
Stan opened his mouth to explain, but Kyle cut him off, "Shut up, all of you, I actually don't want to talk about this. Okay? I don't want to. Can we just talk about normal things? Or can we just eat lunch together? We haven't had lunch together since the bus accident."
Kenny had more questions, and from the look he was giving Stan, they weren't pleasing ones. But he complied anyway, taking out a lunchbox and dumping its contents on the table, saying, "Sure, Kylie-B. Didja bring your lunch today?"
"Yeah, but I don't really want it," Kyle mumbled, grimacing as he sorted through his paper bag.
Stan and Kenny shared a look again.
"I packed an extra lunch for you," Stan offered, "Do you want it instead?"
Kyle shook his head, "I don't want anything that's gonna make me puke. I hate puking."
"Kyle, you have to eat. Especially after the weekend you've had."
"I really don't want to puke again."
"You're so high-maintenance, do you know that, Jew?" Eric asked, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Stan's extra lunch bag and stood up from the table.
"Hey!" Stan exclaimed, "Where're you going with that?"
"I'm gonna see if I can trade somebody for some soup so the stupid ginger stops bitching," he snapped before walking away through the cafeteria, going table to table.
"Well that was nice of him," Kenny said.
Neither Stan nor Kyle replied. Kyle was fiddling with his finger sticks and fumbling around to read his glucose levels, while Stan just watched on carefully.
"So, you said you had something to tell me," Stan said, not relinquishing his careful eye on the way Kyle moved with his finger pricks, "Is it about what happened to you at your house last night?"
"Can you just stop asking about that?" Kyle sighed, "I really don't want to talk about that. There are plenty of other issues we need to address, but I feel like there's not enough time in the world to mention all of them, Stan. The way you've been acting, there's-... There's something really wrong about this whole situation and I-"
-He stopped when he realized that Kenny was stroking his hair lightly.
Stan's eyes narrowed.
"Kenny, what're you doing?" Kyle asked.
"I dunno," Kenny simply replied, shrugging, "Offering moral support?"
Kyle just rolled his eyes, but Stan was not as callous. He was getting more and more upset with each passing minute, and it was getting harder to act so calm in front of everyone.
"Okay, well you keep offering moral support, Ken," Kyle shied, "I'm gonna talk to Stan, okay?"
"We can always go somewhere more private," Stan offered.
"No."
For a split second, Stan thought he saw fear in Kyle's eyes.
But just for a second. It passed quickly.
"No," Kyle said, "I know I already said this, but I don't want to be alone with you any time soon."
If Kenny was disturbed at all, he didn't show it. He really was the master of going cold fish when he felt like it. He just remained quiet as he comfortingly messed with Kyle's red curls.
Stan felt his eye twitch, "Well, what do you want, Kyle? I'm listening."
"I'm still not feeling great, Stan," Kyle said remorsefully, "And I had a rough night last night. But I still really wanted to go to school today. And… one of the main reasons why was because I thought you wouldn't be here."
Stan had to do a double take, "I'm sorry, what? You thought I wouldn't be here?"
"My brother and I were both convinced you would try to come to my house, and not go to school at all," Kyle explained, "I didn't think you'd come, and so I wanted to be here."
"Are you saying you don't want to be near me?" Stan asked, stupefied. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was heartbreaking, and overwhelming. It just didn't make any sense what Kyle was saying at all.
"I don't know," Kyle answered. His foot was tapping when he forced himself to go on, "I honestly don't know. I've never thought about you like that before. It's just as shocking for me as it is for you. I never thought I would want space from you before, but this morning I proved myself wrong."
"So what are you saying?" Stan asked, feeling himself start to tear up.
"Just that. Nothing more."
"Are you saying you hate me?"
Kyle put a hand to his mouth, "Oh God, Stan, no. No. I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it until you believe it, but I could never hate you. No way, Stan. I'm only saying that the… the stuff that happened within the past few days is really beating down on our relationship, dude."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" Stan asked, a little exasperated.
"I want you to think about going to counseling again," Kyle said. He was direct and firm, but he still maintained a sense of gentleness. He spoke on with great care and levity, "Stan, I care about you, and I think you're not taking responsibility for your actions and that's jeopardizing the way you act around me."
Stan hung his head low, "You think therapy will help?"
"Well, communication between us isn't working anymore," Kyle said softly, touching one of the bruises on his face, "It might be worth a shot. When you used to go to counseling, you said it really helped at the time. Why not go back?"
"Kyle, communication works two ways, you know," Stan said. His sudden directness captured the attention of everyone at the table. Kyle suddenly appeared to be unsure of himself, while Kenny went on stroking his hair reassuringly.
"All I'm saying is you can't blame me for not communicating properly, when you've literally spent the past two days beating around the bush and hiding from me," Stan urged, "Like in the bathroom, and the car ride, and even while we were in the police station, you've been ignoring me. It's hard to 'communicate' when that's all you give me, Kyle."
Kenny's eyes widened at the words "police station," but he said nothing. He just waited for them to go on talking.
"I know," Kyle said, placing a hand against his forehead, "I'm sorry, Stan, I've just been really stressed out lately. You can probably tell."
"I can," Stan admitted, feeling a little guilty, "Are you okay?"
"No," Kyle smiled, "Are you okay?"
"No."
They smiled sadly at each other from across the table, before Stan broke the silence:
"Okay, I'll go back to therapy if you start to be more open. Is that a deal?"
"What do you mean by more open?" Kyle hesitated, "'cause I already told you, I really don't want to talk about last night, I-"
"-Just don't hide from me. Is that okay?" Stan asked as gingerly as he could muster, "Like, don't avoid conversation if I directly try to talk to you. I only ever want to help."
"I know. Thanks for that."
"Anything for you, Kyle. I mean that."
It was then that Eric Cartman finally returned. He chucked Stan's empty extra lunch bag at his face, and slid a thermos of soup over the table for Kyle to catch it.
"Traded Nichole for some kind of chicken veg soup," Eric said proudly, as if this were some accomplishment he was able to brag about.
Kyle unscrewed the lid of the thermos, "Is this kosher?"
"Dude, fuck off, stop being so picky! Be grateful for what I did for you! I can take that back, you know."
"Sure. Thanks, fatass," Kyle snorted, "But anyway, back to what we-"
"-Not just yet! Just a moment, Kyle," Cartman continued. He lay a hand on Stan's shoulder, "Stan, my dude, there was a catch to the bargain. Nichole only gave the soup with the condition you would save her a dance at Bebe's party on Friday."
Stan just rolled his eyes, "Really? Do I have to?"
"You do now, Kyle's already drinking the soup! There's no take-backs at this point!"
Stan huffed. He didn't mind dancing with Nichole. She was a fine enough girl and Stan didn't really have any beef with her or her friends. The idea of dancing with her was fine and untroublesome, but the idea of having to go to a party was unappealing. After the weekend he had had, being around so many people was the last thing he wanted.
But Stan guessed he would get over it. He had time until Friday. Things could smooth over by then. After all, Kyle was already compliant, and he and Stan were really getting somewhere with their conversation.
"You don't drink soup," Kyle said.
"Uh. Yeah you do," Cartman snorted.
"No, you eat soup. Like, you don't put soup in a bottle and guzzle it. You put it in a bowl and use a spoon."
"No, you drink soup! You don't fucking chew it!"
"There are solids in it, like chicken and vegetables. You can't drink solids. You can't drink soup!"
"You slurp it, don't you?"
"Kenny, Stan, back me up here. You don't drink soup, you eat it."
"I swear to fucking God, Jew, I'm going to take that thermos back to Nichole or so help me-"
"-Enough," Kenny ordered, still totally engrossed in playing with Kyle's hair, "That's enough. Guys, this argument isn't even funny, it's just annoying."
"Kenny's right," Stan agreed, "Kyle and I were almost done talking, anyway."
Kyle took a sip from the soup and then set it aside, "Right. So I'm game if you are. I'll talk about what's on my mind more if you go to counseling again."
"This conversation is gay," Eric said, shoveling a handful of choclate candies into his mouth.
"Your mom is gay," Kenny sneered.
Kyle wasn't paying either of them attention. He was only looking at Stan in anticipation, "Stan?"
Stan had to admit, he didn't expect today to go so smoothly. He was so anxious the entire morning he thought he would give himself a heart attack. And the way Kyle was behaving so timidly honestly scared Stan to the core. But here they were at the lunch table, their other friends causing a ruckus, while they had a civilized conversation; it was like everything was already on its way to being normal again.
"Yeah, okay," Stan said, "Sounds fair to me."
They both smiled again.
Kyle took another sip of the soup, and then stood from the table, "Okay, I have to go. Wendy promised me she would catch me up on what I missed when I was out. We're going to meet in the computer lab."
"Do you need help getting there?" Stan asked.
"No, I'm good. I need the practice," Kyle said. He was already setting himself up on the crutches.
"Wait, but your soup. Aren't you going to have any more? You barely touched it."
"I don't want to upset my stomach," he explained a little guiltily, "Besides, there's no food allowed in the computer lab."
"You mean there's no drinks allowed in the computer lab, Jew!" Eric shouted.
"Can it, fatass!" Kyle then turned to Kenny and Stan a little more pleasantly, "Okay, then, I'm off. See you guys after school."
"Bye, Kylie-B!"
"Take care of yourself," Stan waved, watching Kyle hobble off until he was out of sight.
It wasn't until Stan returned his gaze to the table that he noticed the truculent look Kenny was giving.
"What?" Stan asked, confused, "You don't need to worry about the stuff that happened between us over the weekend. Everything is fine now. What's bothering you?"
"Oh nothing," Kenny drawled, his piercing blue eyes irate, "It's just that I think I figured out who fucked up his neck like that."
"Please don't say his parents," Stan winced, "Or his brother. Because if that happened to him while I was only a few blocks away, and I did nothing to stop it, I don't know what I would-"
"-Could definitely be his folks," Kenny said, though something in his tone made Stan feel like he didn't really agree, "I'm not pushing that option aside. Could definitely be his folks. But my understanding is that he definitely didn't do it himself. His fucking fingers are so small and weak from all the pricks, he couldn't do that."
"Who are you saying did it then?"
Kenny answered a question with a question, "Stan, do you remember when the two of us were at your house after the snowstorm? Remember when you jumped over the table and pinned me to the ground and pushed down?"
Stan stared at him in stupefaction, "That didn't happen. You reversed the roles. You were the one who did the damage, you locked me in a closet."
"Woah woah woah," Eric was getting masochistic about the darkness of their conversation now, "Slow down, stop, and tell me everything."
"Just a sec," Kenny told him, before redirecting his attention to the quarterback, "You don't remember that at all, do you? When you nearly broke my ribs?"
"I would never do that to you, Kenny, honest," Stan pleaded, "You're my friend, man, I would never intentionally hurt you."
"Hm."
"What?"
"Nothing," Kenny said, taking out his e-cigarette and smoking it.
"Seriously," Cartman urged, "What are you thinking? Fucking spill, poor boy."
"Nothing," Kenny said again, fruity-scented smoke crashing into their faces, "Nothing. 'cept now I'm one hundred percent sure who hurt Kyle. And trust me, you don't want to know."